


Wolf Taming

by Mythlorn



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Character Growth, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, dealing with a Lothar is enough to drive a man to drink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2019-09-22 08:37:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17056463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythlorn/pseuds/Mythlorn
Summary: It's hard to love a hard-headed man.





	1. Chapter 1

 

**Chapter One:**

Varian growled at him, but Khadgar was undeterred. "I know," he whispered softly. "I know, it hurts." Broad, strong hands were tender as they sought out the fabric of Varian's undertunic. The familiar breadth of muscle and the veritable furnace that was Varian Wrynn was obvious beneath the cloth, but there was more to it than that. There was unnatural heat that spoke of pain, of injury, and Varian wasn't letting a single soul tend him. Not even his son. Especially, not his son.   
  
"I don't need help. I'm fine," Varian grit out, his posture conflicted.   
  
"Let me see," Khadgar murmured, tone intended to quiet the wolf, not silence him.   
  
"No, I don't need you!" Varian snapped, turning on him, his blade-calloused hand clasping around Khadgar's wrist like a vice.   
  
The archmage didn't back down.  
  
Like a wounded animal, Varian Wrynn fought, and Khadgar couldn't blame him. It was instinct; the warrior never meant to hurt anyone he loved, he just didn't know any other way. The wolf had its fangs on his arm, but it wasn't biting down, and the mage made note of that. Khadgar knew Varian could hurt him badly if he wanted to, but he was choosing not to. That choice meant everything.  
  
There was the rapid rise and fall of chest, and a quiver to the hand furthest from them that had wrapped itself around the bedpost. Fear. Fear that he wasn't strong enough. Fear to be vulnerable. Fear to be intimate. Fear of losing again.   
  
"I know," Khadgar crooned; not dismissing, acknowledging.   
  
Varian was a man who thought that in order to love something properly, it had to be tamed; the king sought to master all. That was why it was so hard for him to understand that he didn't have to submit to be loved. That he didn't have to roll over to be helped, or conquer to be worthy. In this moment, Khadgar wasn't fighting Varian, or Lo'gosh. He was withstanding pride for the privilege of love.   
  
Varian's grip tightened on the bedpost as his other hand fell away from the mage's wrist.  
  
"That's it," Khadgar encouraged, fingertips skirted the edge of the injury, stroking small, soothing circles on the surface tension of the fabric separating wound from daylight. He was asking a wordless question, and in answer, Varian shuddered and turned his head away in grudging acceptance.   
  
Despite the fact that the warrior had lowered his chin and his bangs obscured his eyes, Khadgar could still feel that ice blue on him—the proverbial wolf hiding in the scrub as Varian peered at him from between dark strands. The shudder had been a concession and apology in one, and he would accept both offerings silently. It had always been an unspoken rule between them.   
  
Moving carefully, the mage unlaced tunic—loosening it until the dark fabric fell from the warrior's shoulder—and sighed at what he saw. Varian's spirit was all he had, and that was something that Khadgar would never allow to be broken; though there was little he could do about what had happened during the skirmish. A blow from a fel-ravaged orc's hammer had crushed Varian's pauldron, ramming the metal down into the muscle and bone. The mage had his suspicions that this was more than an impressive collection of cuts and bruises, that it came gratis with fractures as well, yet true to form, Varian had refused to allow anyone to examine him, let alone heal him.   
  
Summoning the arcane, Khadgar cooled his hand until it served as a sort of icy compress, and cautiously resting it to the top of bare shoulder, he tried to encourage some of the swelling to ease. He was no priest, and Varian needed one; but before that could happen, Khadgar had to talk some sense into a Lothar descendant, and that was easier said than done. He was also trying to avoid reminding Varian of how his uncle had died. It was something that the mage wished he could forget.  
  
"I love you, Varian. But you cannot protect anyone like this. Not Anduin, not Stormwind, not Azeroth. You don't need me, and I know that. But I want to help you. Please don't push me away."  
  
Varian grunted in response, the tension ebbing out of him in a manner that Khadgar could both see and feel through the arcane; thus he was prepared when the warrior let go of the bedpost and turned in his arms, resting his forehead to the feathery swoop of his cowl. Growl had become a whimper, and dark lashes fluttered shut in relief as Varian rubbed a stubbly cheek against Khadgar's robes. The mage let the cooling continue, moving his hand over the curve of muscular shoulder. "When you're ready, let me call for Anduin?"   
  
"Maybe... Maybe in a moment." 

~*~

TBC

~*~


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to love a hard-headed man.

 

 **Chapter Two:**  
  
Varian was tactile. It was part of his nature. The man wasn't stupid, far from it, but he was the sort who believed that actions were more powerful than words. Thus, when warm hands delved beneath tunic and brigandine, Khadgar wasn't surprised. The high king was capable of removing armor and clothing in a way that was so practiced it was magic all its own—and the mage wasn't complaining. As his belt hit the floor, he moved his toes out of the way; and when cowl slithered to the flagstone, buckles chiming, he cooperatively side-stepped, letting those strong hands work the fabric up.  
  
Khadgar couldn't help flinching for a moment when thumbs rubbed the bare softness around his hips and belly. It was an area of self-consciousness since the curse, but Varian didn't seem to mind. If anything, the warrior tended to linger there until Khadgar believed he sincerely enjoyed it; which was its own compliment.  
  
The mage gasped sharply when scarred nose nuzzled against his belly; and again when lips blazed a trail to his navel—tongue darting out to soothe the uncertainty away. Receiving a small, acknowledging nod from Varian, Khadgar loosened his grip on wounded shoulder as his body responded to the warrior's ministrations. He didn't want to reflexively cling and put pressure on the injury. "You're making it hard to concentrate. Do you want your shoulder to become a block of ice?" He moaned his question out as warm breath teased a nipple, but then leather cuirass, tunic, and overkilt were urged up over his head to join their kin—which thwarted his frosty arcane touch altogether. That, he suspected had been Varian's plan all along, and Khadgar wasn't fooled.   
  
But he _was_ willing.  
  
The sensation of stubble working its way up to the silvering curls of his chest made the mage writhe until he giggled in submission, and somehow, some way, he found himself on his back on the bed. They both still had boots and trousers on, but the look in the warrior's eyes was feral, giving the mage the feeling that he might not even have a chance to edge his smallclothes down. Leave it to a Wrynn to seek reassurance and comfort in his own way. "What about your shoulder?" Khadgar fretted, tightening his grasp on the arcane as he felt Varian's hips arch into his.  
  
"What about it?"   
  
"You need a healer. That's your sword arm. You cannot risk—"  
  
"—I will let Anduin tend it. But before that, I want you to tend me."  
  
Khadgar's mind briefly short-circuited. That was something Varian had never asked him for, so the mage assumed he meant something else altogether.   
  
"I can't do that with you on top of me, unless..." Khadgar laughed as his thought trailed off distractedly, voice deep and gentle as his fingertips sought purchase in Varian's thick hair. "Unless you want me like this, in which case, I can roll over."  
  
"I want more than that."   
  
Khadgar blinked. He wondered if the blow to the shoulder had crossed some wires in Varian's head. It wouldn't have been the first time.  
  
"Varian, that will take a great deal of time and care if you want it... and this," he gestured to the injury in question "Has to be healed properly before the swelling does more damage. Please believe me, your uncle's shoulder was never the same."  
  
"Would you really do it? Would you want me like that?" Varian wasn't talking about healing, and his voice had gone deep and vulnerable; his blue eyes meeting Khadgar's uncertainly. It made the mage ache. Varian didn't understand give and take in relationships, but he wanted to, and that meant so much.  
  
"Varian, I promise you this: if you want to try submitting to me, which not everyone likes and you may change your mind on, I will take all the time you need. But you have to let someone mend your shoulder first. I don't like pain, and I am already worried about hurting you. You deserve that sort of first experience to be good for you. Do this for me, and I swear it to you, I will give you what you ask."   
Khadgar wasn't against negotiation, it was part of loving a Lothar.   
  
"You would let me?" Varian's touch grew shaky as pain and worry had gained ground over desire. Leave it to a warrior to cover hurt with ardor.   
  
"Needing to let go? Needing to not be in charge sometimes? Why, if anyone understands that, I think it might be me. If you need this, Varian, I promise you I will not flinch away. I love you more for wanting to understand." Khadgar leaned in to press a gentle, thorough kiss to Varian's lips, and the warrior opened to him hungrily... before tilting his head, and jerking back with a grunt. Khadgar could feel corded muscles spasming under his touch—wounded like this, Varian couldn't even kiss properly.  
  
"I'm going to retrieve Anduin," Khadgar murmured when they parted, nuzzling the scar at the warrior's brow. "Later. I promise."   
  
After regretfully wriggling his way out from under Varian, the mage scooped up his tunic and cowl, dressed as quickly as possible, and gave the warrior one last rueful look before blinking himself out of the royal bedroom. He had forgotten his belt, which Anduin would rib him for later, but in the moment all he could think of was making things right for Varian. Varian who was sitting on the edge of the bed on his hip, expression forlorn and longing.   
  
~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to love a hard-headed man.

 

 **Chapter Three:**  
  
       There was something almost shy about the way Varian bowed his head—in the manner in which he turned away as Anduin's hand hovered above his shoulder. In response, the prince slipped his arm around his father's waist, perching carefully beside him on the edge of the bed. The young priest’s expression was hesitant even if his actions were sure... and rightly so. Varian was all push and pull, and it was hard to know what side the coin would land on. Sometimes, like this one, it seemed to hover on edge. Anduin wanted so badly to love his father—who was a hard man to love if he even let himself be—and to watch the cautious dance made Khadgar's heart ache. He understood all too well, if, perhaps, on another level.  
  
Despite what Varian had put him through, despite the hot tempered, heavy handed anger in his sire, the boy was still _trying_ , and that was the saving grace. Varian had unintentionally taught his son the resiliency he applied to his burgeoning diplomatic skills. The big heart, however? That was all Anduin, or possibly, all Wrynn. It was hard to miss Llane's influence in the bloodline despite other portions of it being showier. Khadgar was so proud of the boy, and sometimes it was hard not to step in where Bolvar had to bow out.  
  
"Anduin," Varian rasped. There was exhaustion in his tone now. Leave it to Lo'gosh to wear himself down putting on a front.  
  
"It's okay, I'll have it mended in no time. Just try to relax, or at least, trust me a little?"  
  
Golden light flowed from Anduin's fingertips, and the tension gradually left Varian's posture; as expected, his wounds had pained him far more than he let on. After a time, the king's dark lashes fluttered shut again, and he finally yielded completely—his rough cheek coming to rest on his son's narrow shoulder. The big man setting his pride aside for his son was a thing of beauty; the true heart of the wolf shining through the rage and pain. Varian was learning to accept Anduin's skills as equal to that of a warrior's. Their Little Lion wasn't just a wolf tamer, he was a consummate teacher, and in that, Khadgar found echoes of Tiffin.  
  
The archmage hid a parental smile behind the back of his hand. Varian and Tiffin had never been in love, but they had loved one another as strong friends did. Their arranged marriage had been hell, and the two had worked their way around it well enough to manage a child and a strong future for Stormwind. It had taken a stunning level of dedication to rebuild what was broken, to recover from the burning of the city and Varian's loss of his mother. Then... had come Tiffin's death. Khadgar had been locked on the other side of the portal—both for the uprising that led to her murder, and the restoration of Stormwind—but from what he understood, Tiffin's loss had been the death knell for Varian; one perceived failure too many, if one would. After that, the king had been closed off to everything and anyone, save his son. Genn Greymane had been instrumental in teaching Varian to contain his rage after the incident with Lady Prestor, and to urge him to step away from the poisonous hubris that was choking the life from him—and those he loved—but it had taken time. It _was_ taking time.  
  
But that was how it was with Lothar men.  
  
Khadgar moved closer, unable to help himself. He rested a hand on Anduin's shoulder reassuringly, and then reached over to stroke his fingers through Varian's chestnut hair. The king had his back to him—a position that would normally make him uncomfortable—but he didn't react. Not even when Khadgar pushed long bangs forward over his shoulder. It was telling, and it drew a frown from the mage. Like Anduin Lothar, it was hard to interpret moments of passivity. Khadgar had loved Lothar, and he saw him in Varian in a dozen different ways—from the ferocity to the relentless courage and passion. But the part that he loved most might have been the Wrynn side. The big-hearted, open-minded dedication that Varian possessed—and the capacity for tenderness that he had buried so deeply to survive. In that level of sacrifice and love, Khadgar saw Llane.  
  
"Khadgar, can you..?" Anduin gestured, his jaw working as he attempted to properly control his grasp of the Light.  
  
"Of course," the mage replied pleasantly—running his hand down Varian's ponytail to ease the strands away from still-weeping scabs, then brush them forward and out of the way. The boy didn't want to heal hair into the wound, and Khadgar was glad to assist in the process, but he couldn't help a wince when he heard the warrior's sharp intake of breath. "I'm sorry," he murmured, kissing the top of Varian's head.  
  
"Don't be," Varian rumbled.  
  
"It's okay to sit, Archmage," Anduin soothed, perfectly polite despite being lost in his work.  
  
Varian didn't flinch away from Khadgar's touch, which should have been permission enough; but despite Anduin inviting him to join them, the mage was careful not to get between father and son—or even be perceived as doing so. Varian was intensely overprotective. Like his wolf in many senses, the warrior guarded his resources jealously—and his people, more so. Thus, Khadgar was careful to lower himself in the opposite position of Varian, facing the door with both of his feet on the flagstone, Anduin tucked between them. This way he was watching the king's back. It was hard for Varian to let his guard down, and the way Khadgar saw it, it was probably why it had taken them both so long to gravitate toward one another.  
  
The first time the two of them had been together had been Pandaria; Varian choked with grief and fear for Anduin to the point he could scarcely function. The way he had cried out when he had found release, the way he had whimpered for Khadgar and clung—in those wordless utterances the mage had tasted all the cold, lonely nights, and something wrong, righted. Varian had confessed that Khadgar was the first, other than Tiffin, and since her—and that odd sort-of innocence had comforted the mage; Khadgar, who had still been haunted by Lothar's ghost as he had wrapped his legs around Lo'gosh's waist, letting him into a heart that was so tired of breaking, and a body he was still unsure of.  
  
It had been beautiful, and sad, and lonely, and full of needy clutching and pent up passion. But it had also possessed a kind of tenderness that had long been thwarted, and a restraint that Khadgar wouldn't have suspected to be synonymous with Varian Wrynn. Varian who had stolen long moments stroking his fingers through Khadgar's hair, and over the soft places at belly and sides that were part and parcel of the curse. Good robes could hide many sins. Taria had taught Khadgar that, and he was forever grateful for it.  
  
"There," Anduin announced, soft voice still managing to startle Khadgar from his thoughts.  
  
The prince gave him a reassuring smile, and the mage felt his heart lift further. Anduin knew he was worried despite the front he had put up, and the boy trying to comfort him was a small point of sweetness in dark times. Varian's obvious relief was another. Letting the boy rise from the bed, Khadgar watched him walk over to the wash basin in the corner and wet a cloth. Returning, he placed it in the mage's hands, his cool wet fingers tightening over Khadgar's just for a moment.  
  
"This is for you to do, I think," Anduin nodded encouragingly.  
  
"If you're certain," Khadgar said with a knowing smile, which Anduin met in return. The two of them had to come to an understanding. It hadn't been simple to explain when the boy had found out, and the natural emotional consequences of feeling displaced had to be worked through; but Anduin had a good heart and deep down wanted the best for everyone, so any bumps in the road had smoothed with time... despite Varian's tendency to exacerbate emotional situations.  
  
"I'm certain."  
  
"Make sure you have a potion, or at least a mana bun and some rest, Anduin." Khadgar was determined to return the aid. He and Anduin tended to worry about everyone around them equally.  
  
"I will," the boy promised, kneeling again, but this time to properly hug his father, who returned it almost defensively.  
  
Khadgar bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing in relief. Watching Varian feel well enough to interact properly with the person he cared about the most? It was beautiful.  
  
"I love you, Son." Varian murmured. "Thank you... for taking care of me."  
  
A year ago, Khadgar and Anduin both might have believed they were hallucinating to hear those gruff words. Now? Now they were far more probable, but still, there was no way to miss how much joy they brought Anduin, or their subtext of acceptance. When one was given a gift, they didn't get to dictate what it was; and Varian Wrynn had learned that lesson. He still backslid sometimes, but the effort was obvious.  
  
"Go on, now," Varian said with a playful shove that almost knocked Anduin out of his boots while propelling him off the edge of the bed. "I'm sure you have some archery to practice."  
  
"Don't I always?" Anduin asked, backing toward the door. Varian shook his head in amusement, and when Anduin skittered from the room with one last grateful look in Khadgar's direction, the boy was off on his adventures for the evening.  
  
Varian's smile became more reflective as he turned to lean into Khadgar's arms—and the mage used the arcane to warm the washcloth before teasing the blood and scabs from the warrior's shoulder. There was a long stretch of silence between them, in which Varian contentedly yielded to being cleaned up; and when it was done, Khadgar dropped a kiss to a still-red mark—one of the areas the pauldron had cut deepest. Varian's undertunic had not survived enough to be concerned with blood so much as burning the shreds it had become, but Khadgar still ached knowing how it had met its demise. He had his own scars, and he grasped the cost of them, emotional and physical.  
  
"Am I a bad father?" Varian asked unexpectedly, scowling down at the duvet beneath them; his voice quavering as it often did when he was overwhelmed.  
  
"No, Varian. You are a good man, and a good father. You have your faults, but you are learning to manage them. I'm so proud of you."  
  
"Am I... Am I good for you? Am I enough?"  
  
"Oh, Varian. Of course you are. You are my wolf. Don't tell Genn, though, you know how competitive he can get. Besides, I don't think Mia would approve."  
  
The glower left Varian's face as quickly as it had come, and his eyes were suspiciously wet when he lifted his head again, chuckling ruefully.

"There we are," Khadgar said kindly, readjusting hair so it didn't cling to the dampness left by the cloth. "Much better. Now, what would you say about a nap? I could use one." This was a tactic that the mage often found useful. When Varian felt emotional—or was trying to find the words to explain himself—he became almost desperately tactile. Sometimes that devolved into wonderful and impassioned lovemaking rather than self-revelation, while others it involved a kind of adoring, hesitant exploration that the mage also cherished. Either way was fine with him. Varian and Anduin safe, and Stormwind happy were Khadgar's two favorite themes—and he would trade anything for them to be the norm. It seemed, though, that no currency would need to be exchanged this time.   
  
Varian kicked off his boots and curled up in the center of the bed, hand finding Khadgar's forearm to encourage him to do the same—then tugged him to him... so the mage went.  
  
And when the warrior unbuckled Khadgar's cowl and crawled beneath loose outer robes, tangling himself close to heartbeat and warmth, Khadgar was exactly where he wanted to be. It was small repayment for the day's panic, but he would take it. How a man who was so much bigger than him (and that was rare!) could make himself so small for a moment was a thing of wonder for the mage, but he accepted it as naturally as he did everything else that came with loving a mulish Lothar descendant.  
  
"I want you," Varian whispered hoarsely—but Khadgar knew sleep was winning out.  
  
"When you wake," Khadgar replied, tugging the blankets up over them from the side of the bed.  
  
"Promise?" Varian asked, sounding thirty years younger than he was.  
  
"Promise," Khadgar confirmed.  
  
~*~  
TBC  
~*~

  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to love a hard-headed man.  
> A/N: I promised you some Prawn, so here you go. <3

 

**Chapter Four:**

      Khadgar woke when Varian shifted against him, wriggling his way lower against his body. Sleepily, curiously, the mage's hands followed muscular shoulders down—feeling the warrior working his tunic up until he could nuzzle into his belly, pressing heated kisses there. There was still notable warmth to his lover’s shoulder; the wound might have healed, but it would take his body some time to forget what had come to pass. The mage didn’t have time to focus on his concern for long, though. Stubble tickled, and Khadgar's fingers twisted reflexively into chestnut hair as he tried not to laugh.  
  
There was an incongruous innocence to Varian’s affection when he was drowsy, and Khadgar loved him all the more for it. “Good morning,” he teased, knowing it was early evening at best. He was also moderately surprised that Varian was as amorous as he was—hunger should have set in and been a much bigger distraction. Then the mage remembered his promise. Varian might have been half asleep, but he was sharp enough when it came to negotiating for something he desired. “Still collecting on that proposition, I see?”  
  
The feral look in those blue eyes when they met Khadgar’s left him no doubts. Lurking beneath the folds of fabric and wrinkles of blanket, Varian wordlessly dragged his stubble down Khadgar’s belly… before unbuttoning trousers to take him into his mouth. This meant that Lo’gosh was rewarded with first a giggle, and then a gasp before Khadgar threw his head back against the pillows; back arching as his lover leaned into him, holding his hips down.   
  
And Varian was more than strong enough to do so.   
  
Let it never be said that the man didn’t take his time—or that he was inattentive. He didn’t look away once as he mouthed at Khadgar, or as he nuzzled into him, exploring in a way that a soldier who planned to own a plot of land might. The mage didn’t stop him. It had always been worth it to give Varian what he desired. A kiss there—a place to return to later—a nip here—a spot that would make Khadgar cry out and writhe once he was inside of him... but Varian would not be doing that today, no. Whatever the warrior had planned was clearly on his terms, and Khadgar was along for the ride.

As tongue flicked out to taste him, lips taking him in until they could guide him to the roof of Varian’s mouth, Khadgar could see his lover had palmed something while removing trousers—the phial of oil from under the pillows, and he was warming it in his hand. There were a dozen things the mage wanted to say, to remind the warrior of, but then Varian was pulling up off of him, slicking his length with one blade-calloused hand, and pulling away. “Varian?”

The warrior’s absence was abrupt, and ducking away, he left Khadgar throbbing against his belly. “Varian Wrynn? What are you doing?” Khadgar asked, a hint of amusement in his voice when he realized that his lover had dropped off the side of the bed to step out of his trousers. Thankfully, he didn’t have long to wait for his return, and a moment later, the mage had an armful of naked Varian once more. Khadgar clung gamely as the warrior shared a kiss in which he could taste himself—before he rolled over onto his belly expectantly… and that… was a treat for the eyes. “The Light is testing me,” Khadgar murmured. “Or my birthday has come early.” He chuckled … then had to take several deep breaths before he could formulate a plan.  
  
Varian’s dark skin was a rich mocha in the low light, chestnut hair spilling in strands that fell well past his knees against the bright white of the sheets, and Khadgar felt very much like a young man again. This was for him, and he was a lucky man. “Let us see what you’ve done with that oil,” Khadgar murmured, looking around until he located the phial, glinting in the sunset light of Stormwind. “There we are.” And relocating himself to the back of Varian’s thighs—there was a wicked scar that went across flank and the curve of a cheek that he was mindful of—Khadgar popped the oil open.   
  
Pouring the warm stuff out on his fingers, he didn’t immediately do as Varian desired. Instead, he trailed a stripe of slick down the warrior’s spine—and began to rub his back. This was a level of intimacy Varian had never allowed before, but as Khadgar’s palms and fingertips established a rhythm, small sounds of pleasure were already spilling from the high king’s lips. “No one has ever done this for you before? Have they?” The rub trailed lower, slick thumbs massaging the very taut muscles of Varian’s rump. Khadgar might have allowed himself a peek at where he was hoping to be before Varian writhed beneath him, arching his hips into the sheets under him and pulling firm muscle together—and out of his grasp. “Varian? Are you sure you want to try this?” Khadgar was praying the answer was yes, but he had to be sure.  
  
“What, exactly, are you waiting for?” Varian growled.   
  
Khadgar knew the warrior hated time to get nervous, so he nodded to himself, then Varian. “Alright, My Wolf, alright… just try to relax?”   
  
“I am relaxed,” Varian grumbled, but he flinched as Khadgar stroked a slick finger between cheeks, touching that tight furl.   
  
“Relaxed?”   
  
“Relaxed.”  
  
Khadgar shook his head, pouring more oil onto the tips of his fingers.   
  
“Just do it,” Varian shuddered.   
  
“Now, Varian, where is the pleasure in that?” Khadgar asked, watching the muscles of Varian’s back work as he circled a fingertip around, and around. When at last the warrior sighed, hips moving fitfully into the sheets again, that was when he slipped the first finger inside. Varian spasmed and drew in a sharp breath, clenching tight around the finger, but Khadgar hushed him, curling the digit carefully until he could slide along the walls of his body, searching… and found it easily, giving that raised place a light brush with the pad of his finger. Luckily for him, it seemed that Varian enjoyed such a thing—as not all men did.   
  
Varian moaned, hands kneading pleadingly at the sheets beneath him as his hips jerked down into the blankets—and as he was distracted, Khadgar eased a second in beside the first.   
  
“Do it!” Varian repeated.   
  
Khadgar hushed him again, this time crooking both fingers, and this response was even more spectacular.   
  
“I’m not afraid! Please!” the warrior grit, as close to begging as he ever came, hips rocking back experimentally into Khadgar’s fingers.   
  
“I never doubted,” the mage hummed, inching himself closer as he spread his fingers apart from one another, stretching the warrior who was moving ever so eloquently back against him. “Though I might admit surprise that you enjoy this. Can you trust me to make this good? And Varian, I can make this very good. We’re almost there.” Khadgar knew there had to be some sting, an ache, but if it bothered Varian he wasn’t acknowledging it.   
  
“I want all of you, don’t make me wait,” the warrior hissed.   
  
Khadgar responded by curling and twisting his fingers again, watching Varian ride the sheets with some amusement. He was ready, and two would certainly be enough.   
  
Backing his digits out, Khadgar lined himself up, walking up on stiff knees until the crown of him caught against furl. With thumbs spreading Varian’s cheeks, and long fingers wrapping around his hips, Khadgar bowed down to kiss the warrior’s lower back. “I’m going to try now. I want you to breathe, and relax, I promise it’s worth it.”   
  
Surprisingly, there wasn’t much in the way of a tense muscle in Varian’s body, and when Khadgar began to press, Varian opened to him needily. The mage could see his king’s hands fisting into the sheets, twisting as the muscles of his back worked, but Khadgar managed to hilt in one long, slow slide. When he came to a halt at last, he had to bite his lip. Slick, and tight, Varian’s muscles rippled around him as the warrior tried to make heads or tails of the sensation—but thankfully, he didn’t seem to be in pain.   
  
“Alright?” Khadgar asked breathlessly.   
  
“Burns,” Varian whispered back, some worry in his tone.  
  
“Only for a little while, once I begin to move, Varian? You thought my fingers felt good, but this will be even better.”   
  
“Holding you to that,” Varian grit out.   
  
“Breathe, just breathe,” Khadgar whispered, staying still where he hilted. Thumbs rubbing the muscles of the warrior’s rump, he looked down to see where he was parting him, buried so deep, and he nearly faltered. Light… he had to move slowly or it would be over before it started.  
  
“Are you ready?” Khadgar asked after a time, noting the lessening of pressure along his length.   
  
Varian’s ponytail bobbed as he nodded, and Khadgar allowed himself a grin. Brave to the last. Tugging a pillow down from Varian’s chest to just beneath his hips, he slipped down and out, nearly to the tip, before thrusting gently back in, thumbs adjusting the angle between them as he heard Varian gasp.   
“Relax, Varian. Let go, and move back to meet me when you’re up to it,” Khadgar urged, splaying his knees further so he could rock deeper yet, each motion slow and ending in an upward tilt, easing as deeply as possible and making Varian moan for him in a way he had never heard before.   
  
“No pain?” Khadgar confirmed, watching Varian’s spine bow, the warrior reaching out to splay fingertips against the headboard to keep from bumping his head into it. Burying his length over and over again was hypnotic to watch, and he couldn’t help himself when his next thrust drew a moan from him that joined his lover’s.  
  
“No. Keep going, Khadgar!” Varian choked out, learning the dance between them as a master swordsman would, growing in confidence until he was arching back into Khadgar’s thrust with abandon.  
  
The mage was still careful, and each motion was designed to find that place within. Light, it was amazing to be on top for once; and to be honored as a first partner for Varian like this? he couldn’t help heaping the warrior with praises. “You feel so good, and you’re doing so well,” Khadgar breathed, motion of his hips quickening. The wet slap of skin on skin was loud in the otherwise quiet room, and the mage could scarcely believe his luck… although next time, he had a plan for silk cord and some scarves. Assuming… there would be a next time.   
  
Varian had gone silent with concentration now, but as their motions gained speed and urgency, he knew that only meant one thing: his lover was close. As the mage rocked deeper yet, and a strangled warning crossing his lips, he also knew he wouldn’t be able to pull out in time. Biting his lips against a cry, he prayed Varian would be fine with him finishing inside—his hips jerking harder than he meant them to before he filled the warrior beneath him.   
  
“Light!” Varian exclaimed, briefly shocked at the sensation of Khadgar throbbing wetly inside of him. But any protest died as he looked back over his shoulder to his lover, who had bowed over him, forehead pressed to the top of his good shoulder as he rocked to a standstill. Varian spilled a twitch later, body crushing down around Khadgar and drawing a second release from the exhausted mage—his ensuing cry loud enough the king worried for guards bursting in.  
  
Collapsing, Khadgar fell to Varian’s back, curling up there to catch his breath.  
  
“We have to do this again sometime,” Varian murmured drowsily beneath him, his death grip on the sheets loosening. “Soon.”  
  
“Yes, soon. Maybe once I catch my breath?” Khadgar asked.   
  
Varian gave him a breathy laugh, and then squeezed his muscles around the mage to draw a whine from his throat. “And if we don’t get interrupted by the guards with you making that much noise.”  
  
“Unfair!” Khadgar protested. “I’m an old man, I hope you know.”  
  
“That wasn’t a performance of an old man,” Varian grunted, slumping to the pillows, sated.  
  
“You’re right,” Khadgar answered after a moment of panting for air. “Next time I’m introducing you to silk scarves and rope, you’re much too enthusiastic for my advanced years.” He kissed Varian’s healing shoulder, and smiled to hear the softest of laughs buried into the blankets beneath them.   
  
“Just try to slow me down,” Varian murmured.   
  
“That’s the plan.”  
  
~*~  
  
TBC  
  
~*~  



End file.
